


Three Little Words

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Intimacy, M/M, Pre-Thor (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Declarations aren't always grand, elaborate statements. Sometimes they're just wordless actions and quiet truths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Little Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThinkToThought](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkToThought/gifts), [AlyKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/gifts).



> For ThinkToThought, who is my 100th follower on tumblr, and AlyKat, for her help. Their prompts are at the bottom of the fic.
> 
> Disclaimer ~ Marvel's toys, not mine. I'm just playing with them.
> 
> Warning for adult language.
> 
> **Set pre- _Thor_**

 

Phil sat in one of the three uncomfortable plastic chairs crammed in the tiny waiting area outside Medical, doing triage on his inbox. He had already dealt with the urgent, pressing, and important matters in his office -- now he was merely determining what he could deal with later, what could be forwarded or delegated, and what could simply be ignored.

He looked up just in time to see the man he was waiting for come striding out, bow case slung over one shoulder. The tired, drawn expression on his face slid into a surprised smile as he caught sight of Phil.

“Barton.”

“Sir. This is a surprise.”

“Just checking in to make sure Martinez returned my asset in acceptable condition.”

Clint grinned cheekily. “Not a single hair harmed on his incredibly handsome head, sir.”

As he stood, tucking away his tablet, Phil gave him the eyebrow twitch that signaled _Really?_ and Clint's grin only grew.

They began walking, their strides perfectly matched after years of practice, but Clint's step faltered when Phil didn't make the familiar turn toward his office.

“Sir?”

“I'm all caught up,” Phil murmured easily, leaving out that the reason he'd cleared out most of his backlog was that he no longer slept well when Clint was away. “Thought I might spend the evening with you. If that's acceptable.”

The look of surprised gratitude on Clint's face made it worth all the feverish effort Phil had put in that day to finish clearing his desk.

“I -- yes. Good. That'd be good.”

The corner of Phil's mouth lifted in reply. “Good.”

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

The drive back to Phil's was calm. He had classic rock on, turned low, just a murmur, and he caught the hint of a smile on Clint’s reflection in the window when Phil quietly hummed along with _Layla_.

Other than that, the car was nearly silent, and it was... comfortable. That was one of the things Phil had learned to appreciate most in the almost six months they'd been doing this (whatever it was, they didn't talk about it, and most days Phil tried not to think about it, lest it pop like a soap bubble and dissolve into nothingness) -- there was no need to fill the silence between them with meaningless small talk or chatter. They just _were_.

They tried not to bring work home with them, but it was inevitable, especially when it came to the few missions they worked separately. Once reunited, they both had a deep need to ensure that the other was safe and whole.

“Everything go okay?” he asked softly.

Clint shrugged one tight shoulder. “Whole thing was a bust. Three hours before the meet, our contact was sweating and crying in Medical. Kidney stones,” he clarified before Phil could ask, sending him a quick glance before staring out the window again. “Examined and confirmed. No cold feet, he wasn't faking, and let me say, I'd be perfectly okay to _never_ be in his shoes, Jesus.” He shuddered. “So... we try again in two weeks.”

That explained the tension in him. All of the planning and prep -- mental and physical -- for a mission, with none of the payoff.

Clint's fingers were tapping out a random pattern on his thigh, and Phil reached over to brush his knuckles along the back of the other man's hand.

“Drawn and held with no release,” he murmured. “I bet your knots have knots.”

Clint rotated his shoulders and rolled his neck in agreement. “Didn't help that the damn hotel room bed was as hard as a holding tank bunk.”

“Think a massage would help?”

The moan that tore from Clint's throat at the suggestion sent a spike of dark heat through Phil. He raised an eyebrow without taking his eyes off the road.

“That sounds fucking amazing,” Clint said happily. “I'm sure I could find _some_ way to repay you,” he added breathily, fluttering his thick eyelashes, and Phil shuddered in anticipation even as he rolled his eyes and fondly cuffed the back of Clint's head.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Phil loved the way Clint's gaze eagerly darted around Phil's apartment as they entered -- not searching for threats, but simply cataloguing things, looking for anything that might've changed since the last time he'd been there, almost as though he considered the apartment his home.

That thought sent a deep thrum of satisfaction through Phil, and he quickly stomped it down. The fact that Clint considered Phil's apartment safe enough that he could sleep in Phil's bed without a weapon in his hand was more than enough. There was no need to wish for more.

While Clint took a quick shower and shaved, Phil got the bedroom ready, spreading a bath sheet over the bed and pulling out their little bottle of massage oil. It smelled of sandalwood, citrus, and sage, calming scents, nothing flowery, and there was a lot of it left. They'd only used it a couple times -- most of what was missing had been spilled on the bed the one time Clint had tried to return the favor.

Clint might have meant it to be soothing, but the idea of Clint's strong, masterful hands on his body, touching him that deftly, had been too much for Phil to take. The massage had turned into a brief wrestling match with a spectacular outcome, despite the spilled massage oil.

He was lost in the memory, savoring it with a smile, when Clint came out of the bathroom yawning, one hand scrubbing absently at his damp hair.

Phil had adjusted the blinds so they were mostly closed, allowing only a little bit of sunlight in to wash over Clint.

He was gorgeous. Shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of SHIELD sweatpants riding low on his hips, all that lean, compact muscle moving easily under tanned skin, and Phil's breath caught in his suddenly dry throat. He wondered, not for the first time, how he was lucky enough to have this man in his bed. In his life.

Clearing his throat -- subtly, he hoped -- he gestured to the bed. “Lie down,” he said. “Get comfortable while I change.”

He distractedly peeled out of his suit, watching as Clint climbed onto the bed, stretched slowly, and settled onto his stomach with his head pillowed on his remarkable arms.

Phil changed quickly into sweats and a t-shirt before easing up onto the bed and settling over Clint's thighs. His legs rested on either side of Clint's, his crotch snug up against Clint's perfect ass, and Clint hummed happily and _wriggled_. Phil's own body took a rather eager interest in the proceedings, and he pointedly ignored it as he warmed some oil between his palms.

Clint groaned at the first touch of Phil's fingers. His skin was smooth under Phil's hands, but the hard muscles of his back were taut and tense, and Phil worked steadily to loosen them.

It would be so easy, he knew, to ignite the desire that simmered in both of them. To make his touches teasing, to stroke and caress until Clint's skin was slick with sweat and he was flushed and moaning as he begged for more.

Phil had done that before, and it was _always_ good, but he had seen the carefully hidden fatigue in Clint's eyes earlier. Clint so rarely gave him the chance to be gentle and caring, to soothe and comfort the way he always longed to, and he wasn't about to let the opportunity slip through his fingers.

Clint needed to relax. He needed sleep, and a good meal, and _then_ there would be plenty of time to welcome him home properly.

So Phil kept his touches neutral, workmanlike, lips quirking into a grin as he felt Clint gradually go pliant and limp under his hands. His breathing evened out and Phil began to wonder if he'd actually fallen asleep.

He carefully lifted his hands away, in case that was so, but Clint made some sort of unintelligible sound as he stretched lazily.

Phil climbed off of him, shifting to press a kiss to the back of his neck. It was a little more tender than he'd normally attempt, but Clint was so relaxed and gorgeous that Phil couldn't help himself.

“Better?” he murmured.

“Mmm. Fucking magic ninja hands.” His voice was slurred with sleepiness, and Phil smiled. He shifted away and Clint made an unhappy noise of protest.

“Not going anywhere,” Phil assured him. “Just wiping my hands.”

He stretched out beside Clint, his heart lifting as Clint sighed contentedly and cuddled up to him. He carded a hand through Clint's hair and then threw an arm over his shoulder, leftover oil be damned.

“Sorry,” Clint mumbled. “Not ver' good comp'ny.”

“It's okay,” Phil told him. “I'm tired, too. Didn't sleep well either.”

It was as close to 'I missed you' as he dared to go.

“Sleep,” he said, giving in to the urge to nuzzle at Clint's temple. “Later, we'll order something to eat and then fight over whose shows we're going to watch.”

Clint chuckled. “Soun's good. Love you, Phil.”

Phil blinked in surprise, his breath catching at Clint's quietly muttered words. He realized after a stunned moment that Clint was absolutely still beside him, and it was clear from the waves of panic rolling off of him that Clint had not meant to let those words cross his lips.

“Hey,” Phil murmured. “Don't tense up. You'll ruin all my hard work.”

He ran a soothing hand down Clint's back, trying to keep his voice steady. “It's okay, Clint, relax, please. I'm not going to hold you to anything you say right now, when your whole body is jelly and your brain is mush. It's okay -- ”

“What if I meant it?”

His words were quiet but defiant, muffled by the blankets and the pillows.

Phil studied him carefully, gazing at his strong profile, at the vulnerability of his hunched shoulders, the hint of uncertainty in the one beautiful eye he could see. He had the sudden wild wish that he could paint or draw or sculpt, some ability to capture this moment and hold it close forever, something more than relying on the fragility of memory.

Clint shrugged, face still planted in the bed. “I mean, I didn't intend to just... _say_ it like that, that was stupid, but I do. At least, I think I do. I don't exactly have much to compare it with, but I'm pretty sure.”

Phil wondered how it was possible for Clint's soft words to simultaneously break his heart and make it whole. He took a deep breath.

“It would make me very happy if you meant it,” Phil told him, willing his voice to stay steady. “Because I love you too, very much.”

Clint smiled, but it was a wistful smile, and Phil immediately hated it.

“You don't have to say it, Phil, just because -- ”

“I'm not,” Phil interrupted, unwilling to let him get another word out. “I wouldn't lie to you, Clint, you know that, not even a white lie to make you feel better, not about this. I mean it just as much you do. I love you.”

Clint turned on his side, that always-sharp gaze avidly raking over Phil's face. The smile that broke over his face was heartrendingly beautiful.

“Yeah?” he murmured.

“Yeah.”

Clint surged toward him, and Phil laughed joyously into the kiss.

All of Phil's hard work was ruined after all, but they found a much better way to relax.

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> ThinkToThought requested C/C and schmoop, and AlyKat prompted first "I love you"s to help me come up with something to write. Hope this fits the bill, ladies!


End file.
